


Balineum

by SweetPollyOliver



Series: Let me take care of you [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Time, Geralt just wants to get ploughed, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, POV Third Person Limited, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:57:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPollyOliver/pseuds/SweetPollyOliver
Summary: Geralt was surprisingly biddable when there wasn’t a monster to be fought.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Let me take care of you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1651168
Comments: 52
Kudos: 707





	Balineum

Geralt was surprisingly biddable when there wasn’t a monster to be fought or an orphan to be rescued or (bit of a mix of both really) a foul tempered cat to be retrieved from a tree. The latter had just happened the once, incidentally, but Jaskier could only assume that Geralt lived ever in readiness for the day when his moggy scooping skills might be called upon again.

But, to return to his original point, Geralt with nothing demanding his attention was a rare delight. He would offer up token resistance in the form of half hearted grumbles when Jaskier would lay hands on his shoulders to steer him towards a room for the night and, crucially, a bath, but he would go willingly and easy. 

After he’d drawn the aforementioned bath, Jaskier would turn to the stool where he’d parked Geralt, forearm submerged up to his elbow in water bordering on too hot, and say, “Pop your clothes off,” and Geralt just _would_. He’d frown and sigh and make a great exhibition of rolling his eyes, but his hands would go to tug his shirt free of his trousers and he’d unlace every square inch of clothing (most often stiff with filth or blood or both) with a studied sullenness. 

“Is the smell of me that offensive?” he’d mutter and Jaskier would say, “Yes, yes it is. Now in you get.”

Once in the bath, Geralt would let Jaskier wash his hair and comb through it with his fingers under the worst of the tangles were gone. Let him scrub his skin til it was pink with the friction and the heat of the water. Let him sing snatches of nonsense under his breath that would probably never see the light of day — truth be told, Jaskier didn’t do his best work when there were several leagues of bare Witcher on display as far as the eye could see. 

Not that this was some big secret: Geralt would see him peeking, Jaskier would see him seeing him and Geralt would either roll his eyes again and look away or, if he was feeling frisky, drag his hand up through the water suddenly to splash Jaskier and then laugh at him blinking suds out of his eyelashes. 

After the bath, he’d sit Geralt back down on the stool, marvelling internally at the placid way Geralt’s knees would bend when he’d shove down on his shoulders. Then he would go over every inch of him looking for new injuries to rub salve into or wrap clean strips of linen around, chatting amiably all the while. Geralt would answer in grunts and single syllables, but Jaskier had gotten good at sticking to yes/no questions that could be adapted to “Hm” and “Pff” as the occasion called.

Finally, he would look up and grin widely. “Right,” he’d say, “Onto the bed, if you please.” Geralt would drag himself up slowly and pad over to the bed, whatever stray droplets of water remained dripping onto the worn floorboards of whatever shithole they were staying in. He’d lie down on his stomach and look over his shoulder with a bored expression. 

Usually what would happen then was that Jaskier would gather up a bottle of scented oil and follow him, kneeling on the bed with one leg either side Geralt’s thighs, and he would rub and rub and rub across the wide expanse of his back until the last remaining knots of tension would leave Geralt’s muscles.

That’s what usually happened. It was nice — Jaskier had spent many a pleasant evening perched astride Geralt, working until he could feel the flesh under his hands go soft and lax; he couldn’t understand why Geralt would mess with a good thing like this.

But sure enough, just as Jaskier turned his head up and opened his mouth to send Geralt off to the bed, Geralt sighed and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, almost apologetically. 

“W-why? What’s not?” Jaskier said, wrong footed by his companion going off script. “I’m just- I mean, we do this all the time!” 

“Exactly,” Geralt replied cryptically and with that swung himself off the low stool and walked over to his discarded pack and dug through it for some fresh clothes.

“Exactly what?” Jaskier called after him. He put his hands on his hips and then dropped them when it felt silly, which was almost immediately. “I’m just taking care of you!”

Geralt looked up from his pack. “Exactly,” he repeated and went back to his task. “I’m going to sleep in the barn with Roach tonight, you can have the room. If you get lonely I’m sure you’ll be able to convince someone to keep you company.”

“This is bizarre!” Jaskier’s voice climbed an octave. “What am I supposed to have done this time?”

“Nothing,” Geralt said simply while pulling a pair of trousers over his thighs. 

“So what’s the-”

Geralt strode back towards him in a few long footsteps.

“You did nothing. You never do anything,” he said an inch from Jaskier’s face. “I let you put your hands on me, I let you do whatever you want with me and you do _nothing_.”

“I, uh, uh,” Jaskier’s brain had stopped suddenly, Geralt’s outburst hitting his line of thought like a snapped string in the middle of a song slapping him in the face.

Geralt’s expression softened and he reached out to pat his shoulder again. 

“I’m not angry with you,” he said. He almost sounded - but no, he couldn’t be sad. Could he? “But I got on for many years without someone taking care of me and if that’s all that you want from me then I’d prefer not having it.”

“I am very, very confused right now,” Jaskier said. Sometimes it helped to be direct.

“You’ve never tried to fuck me,” Geralt said and, wow, direct really was the name of the game now!

“I- no, I mean, of course not!” Jaskier said.

“Ex-” Geralt began and Jaskier stuck a furious index finger in his face.

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “Do not even _think_ the word ‘exactly.’ Geralt, you’re my friend, why would I try to fuck you?”

“No particularly good reason, I suppose,” Geralt shrugged. He was using that almost-possibly sad tone of voice again. “But if you’re not going to then… let’s stop all this- playing house.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, shifting his weight to his other hip and crossing his arms. “Am I to take it from this that you _want_ me to try to fuck you?”

“I mean ideally I’d like you to succeed in fucking me,” Geralt replied.

What Jaskier had previously thought was his brain shutting down was now revealed to be a whirlwind of cerebral activity.

“You- okay. You- no, no, gonna need a minute.” Jaskier rocked back on his heels and bit his lip. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Geralt said, turning towards the door. 

“No! Nononono, _you_ are going to stay right here with me and we are going to _talk_ about this.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm.

“What’s there to talk about?” Geralt said. “I want you to fuck me, you don’t want to, so I don’t want you to climb all over me and rub oil on me in a prelude to sweet fuck all.” 

“But I’m the one that fancies you!” Jaskier said. “Which you know about and which you find wryly amusing but it doesn’t bother you so you tolerate my nonsense. You-”

“When did I ever say any of that?” Geralt frowned. 

“You don’t have to!” Jaskier uncrossed his arms to wave his hands. “It’s obvious!” 

“I thought I was being pretty obvious about the fact that you could bend me over the nearest surface and I’d let you!” Geralt said, raising his voice. “How do you manage to get all those women into bed when you can’t tell whether someone-”

“Oh I’ll tell you how,” Jaskier said, grabbing Geralt’s damp shirtfront and dragging him forward. “They say, ‘Jaskier: fuck me!’”

Geralt let out a low groan and brought his hands up between Jaskier’s and pushed outwards with his wrists to dislodge the bard’s grip on him before grabbing Jaskier’s own shirt and tugging him close. 

“Jaskier,” he growled, “Fuck m-”

Jaskier’s hands were in his hair and his teeth were at his lips before he could finish what he’d been saying, short and declamatory though it was.

They didn’t say anything for another several minutes, they just bit and kissed at each other’s mouths and grabbed at each other, half groping, half grappling. 

“You just had to put clothes on again,” Jaskier muttered against Geralt’s lips as he fumbled one handed with the laces of his trousers. “Going to sleep with the fucking horse, I ask you. I honestly can’t believe you.”

“I liked it better when you were quiet,” Geralt said, before hissing a sharp intake of breath as Jaskier’s clever hand found its way to a very sensitive part of his anatomy. He gripped him for a second before a frown crossed his face and his grasp slackened. 

“Geralt, you’re not-” he began.

“Slow heartbeat,” Geralt replied. “It… takes a while for the blood to get to it.” 

“Oh,” Jaskier said. Well that did explain why Geralt, wasting away for the want of a good fucking from his very best friend, apparently, had never seemed to show any _interest_ , as it were, heretofore. 

“Good to know. Can I encourage the little fella at all?” He dropped to his knees. “I’ll even stop talking — you’ll be living the dream.” 

A grin broke out across Geralt’s face and he wound his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. He really was quite stunning, Jaskier thought, looking up at that craggy face softened by smiling, before turning his attention from one pole to the other. He giggled a little and leaned forward to nose up along the seam of Geralt’s groin where it met his thigh and let the tips of his fingers insinuate themselves into the waist of his trousers from where they could peel them down his legs. 

It was the moment when, with any other new lover, he would make a joke about liking what he found — he’d set himself up with ‘little fella’ to make some kind of ‘not so little, eh?’ rejoinder. But… he’d seen Geralt naked a thousand times. More, perhaps, than even was strictly unavoidable among travelling companions. It felt different this time, with the change of context, a familiar unfamiliar. 

“Are you just going to stare at it?” Geralt asked. “Because it may not find that particularly encouraging.”

Jaskier huffed out a small laugh and leaned forward to kiss the exposed head of Geralt’s cock. 

“Hm,” Geralt said. “Might have to do a bit better than that.”

Jaskier smiled and kitten licked delicately with the tip of his tongue. Geralt frowned at him and he laughed more loudly. 

“Tease,” Geralt said resignedly and Jaskier took his entire cock into his mouth. 

It was still most of the way flaccid, but it twitched against his tongue promisingly when he applied some gentle suction. It almost felt sexier than having Geralt hard as nails for him from the get go — the sweet vulnerability of it intoxicated him. Geralt could be soft with him, he thought, and snuffled a laugh around a mouthful of cock. 

“A more insecure man would worry that you kept laughing,” Geralt said quite conversationally for a man whose dick was being sucked. Jaskier gave a hard swallow and grabbed two handfuls of Geralt’s arse, pulling him closer and spreading him open in one fell swoop. When his questing finger found what it was looking for, Geralt’s cock hardened more fully in Jaskier’s mouth. “Fuck,” he said and his hips jerked forwards into the humid heat surrounding him. 

Jaskier pulled off him and admired the stiff phallus in front of him. “That’s the idea, yeah,” he said, rubbing more firmly against Geralt’s tightly furled centre. 

“Get some oil, you barbarian,” Geralt said, even as he rocked back against the intrusion. 

It was a wrench taking his hands off the Witcher and standing up to go and fetch the oil. It took, he estimated, twenty seconds, but twenty seconds can be a lifetime.

When he turned back, he saw Geralt had discarded the rest of his clothes and was arranging himself on the bed. He swallowed hard and felt a click in his throat at the sight. Again, nothing he hadn’t seen before but… never like this. 

Like a well rehearsed dance, he swung one leg up onto the bed and then the other so that his legs bracketed Geralt’s. Geralt spread his legs impatiently and Jaskier was tipped forward, losing his balance as his own legs slid across the bed suddenly. He laughed and rested his forehead against Geralt’s back. While he was there, he pressed a kiss to a scar — one of the ones he’d gotten saving Jaskier’s life — now that it was allowed. 

“This would work better if you got _between_ my legs,” Geralt said.

Jaskier folded up his legs beneath him one at a time and obediently put them down on the other sides of Geralt’s knees. He tipped some oil onto his left palm and dipped the first two fingers of his right hand into the little puddle, coating them liberally. 

He took his left hand then and gripped Geralt’s hip with it, rubbing along the line of the bone with his thumb, and reached down with his right hand. Geralt gasped lightly when he touched him again and Jaskier wanted to remember the sound of it until the day he died. 

“Have you done this before?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Geralt replied. “Jealous?” he added after a pause. 

“No,” Jaskier said truthfully. “I thought you probably had: virgins take a while to get used to being touched like this and you’re so relaxed.”

“I’ll be a damn sight less relaxed if you don’t- oh!” Jaskier’s finger finally breached him. 

“You take me so well,” Jaskier murmured, curling and uncurling his finger gently. “You could probably take another one now without anything else, couldn’t you?”

In answer, Geralt pressed back against him, unashamed and eager. It was so, so lovely that Jaskier felt like a heel taking his hand away. 

Leaning backwards with his weight on his feet, Jaskier took both hands and spread Geralt open as wide as he could and leaned forward again. The indignant noise Geralt had made morphed into a moan as Jaskier’s tongue touched him. 

“Fuck, Jaskier,” he said. His hips worked furiously to push backwards towards Jaskier and then forwards to rut against the bed sheet.

“Patience,” Jaskier said, pulling back for a second, smiling. 

Geralt whipped around to grab him by the hair and growl in his face. “I haven’t _been_ patient while you touched me and touched me and touched me and then left me alone time after time?”

Unable to argue with that logic, Jaskier pushed his trousers down past his hips — somehow he’d never quite gotten around to taking his own clothes off — and took himself in hand. With shaking hands he dribbled some more of the oil directly from the bottle onto his cock and gave it two short pumps with his right hand before leaning forward again and guiding himself between the cheeks of Geralt’s arse. He fucked up along the crease until the tip of his cock was nestled behind Geralt’s balls and then he did it again another two times for luck before Geralt made a low warning sound in his throat. 

“Okay, okay,” he said with a placating hand smoothing down Geralt’s side. “Here we go.”

He entered Geralt slowly, letting him take him inch by glorious inch until their hips were flush against one another. 

“Melitele’s tits, Geralt,” he said. “You feel-”

“You feel like moving?” Geralt asked impatiently, pushing back against him. 

“Right, right, but of course,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “Bring your knees up underneath you.”

He punctuated his request with a hand against both of Geralt’s thighs, pressing them up. Once again, Jaskier felt a quiet awe as Geralt bent his knees and moved for him, easy and uncomplicated. He stroked down those thighs reverently before taking a hip in both hands and pulling Geralt back towards him. 

“How do you want it?” he asked. “Fast, slow? Hard? Tender?”

“You’ve been quite tender enough,” Geralt said. “Fucking ruin me.” 

Jaskier’s brain did its little disappearing trick again, but, fortunately, his hips were operating under orders from the other head. 

He snapped forward, thrusting sharp and brutal over and over again. He manhandled Geralt into a slightly different position and then grinned in satisfaction as his next thrust made the Witcher’s knees buckle. 

“Fuck,” he said. And then, when Jaskier did it again, “Oh _fuck_.”

Jaskier said nothing at all, just kept fucking up into the tight heat of him and reached around to take his cock in his hand. 

“S’too much,” Geralt pushed his hand away after a few twists of Jaskier’s wrist. 

“I’m going to come, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “Soon.”

“That’s fine, just don’t fall a-fucking-sleep afterwards,” Geralt replied.

“Fuck, okay,” Jaskier said. “In you or on you?”

“You say such sweet things to me,” Geralt said between groans. “No wonder you’re a poet. In me.”

“Oh, fuuuck.” Jaskier’s hips slammed home one last time and stayed there while he came and came and came. He slumped against Geralt’s back and gasped in huge gulping breaths of air. 

Then he pulled out and flipped Geralt over so that he fell back and huffed as the air was knocked out of him when he hit the mattress. They stared at each other with blown pupils, feinted at each other a few times before their lips finally met in a clash. 

Jaskier’s hand gripped Geralt just shy of too tight and started to all but blur over his hips. 

“How are you so fucking fast?” Geralt asked, his back bowed and hips fucking furiously into the tight channel of Jaskier’s hand. 

“I’m a musician,” he said and leaned forward to kiss him again. 

“Had to come in useful at some point,” Geralt muttered into the kiss and then, before Jaskier could punish him appropriately for the insult, came like a geyser all over his hand. 

Geralt let himself fall down against the bed and Jaskier dropped down next to him. 

“Wow,” Jaskier said. 

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed. 

“I mean I transform your image in the public eye and my musicianship is only useful when I can strum you to completion.”

Geralt started to laugh. He pulled the bard close and kissed him again, softer this time. 

“Thank you,” he said.


End file.
